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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25908985">Quelle connorie (But I want to sing to you!)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/8isgreat/pseuds/8isgreat'>8isgreat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>How to Get Away with Murder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:08:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>807</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25908985</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/8isgreat/pseuds/8isgreat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the middle of a tough assignment he has given himself, Connor knows he isn't going to sleep tonight. But he is determined that Oliver will sleep or else, dammit, so tonight, he explains, "I do you". Oliver isn't sure what is more disturbing: that he doesn't get to sing Connor to sleep, or that his snores are apparently "cute". </p><p>(credits to walshyneedsahug who probably inspired this)</p><p>This short little fluff that I surprised myself by writing is transcluded from Unmasked (which is much, much heavier/darker), where it is going to be the third interlude. I figured there are some who would appreciate it more as a stand-alone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Oliver Hampton/Connor Walsh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Quelle connorie (But I want to sing to you!)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The time was 4:52. May 28, 2021. Sunrise wouldn’t be long. But he was done, for now.</p><p>Connor set his pen down on the table. The pen clicked as it hit the floor after presumably falling off the edge. Oops.</p><p><em>Oliver.</em> Whenever he saw Connor this anxious, he couldn’t sleep. Which meant that, instead of sleeping, he’d be amazing. Oliver was a genius, he had mastered so many codes: R, Python, SQL, Perl, C, C++ and also CHW, a code only he knew.</p><p>CHW – “Connor Hampton-Walsh”: exactly how to best make Connor go the f* to sleep. Exactly what songs to sing at 6:00 AM, exactly how to hold Connor, exactly what to say, so that his tiredness could convince his anxiety it was tiring itself out.</p><p>But tonight was a truly joyous, <em>special</em> night. The sort where Connor knew that no matter how hard Oliver tried, he would not sleep. So instead, it fell to Connor to make <em>Oliver</em> sleep.</p><p>Connor crept to the bedroom, and peaked in the door. Oli. Awake. Reading.</p><p>“Hey,” Connor whispered, “Oli… I finished.”</p><p>Oliver set down his book and gave a visibly tired, but genuine, smile.</p><p>It was true: Connor had finished something. But misleading: he wasn’t done, and wouldn’t be sleeping.</p><p>He would be throwing out draft three. No way was he letting Annalise read that. Too personal. <em>Way </em>too personal. He hadn’t intended to go there… but once he started, in his over-caffeinated, crossfaded-plus-adderall state… stopping would have been less effort than continuing. Inertia.</p><p>It was going in the trash, but Connor didn’t seem to regret writing it. Maybe it had been good to get all that out anyways.</p><p>Oliver rolled over to his side of the bed, and reached out, beckoning Connor to come in.</p><p>“I...”</p><p>“… just want a hug?” Oliver finished hopefully.</p><p>Words were failing. New strategy.</p><p>“…hug…” Connor agreed, trying his best to imitate a zombie as he closed in on the bed with arms outstretched, pushing his lips into mirroring the same tired but relieved smile he saw. “And tonight, I do <em>you</em>…”</p><p>“I’m… uh… bit tired for sex...”</p><p>Connor felt his cheeks rising for an amused, maybe slightly guilty, grin. Nope, wrong face. Evil smile aborted. </p><p>Connor considered his options, and picked out the right words carefully. He hated lying, but sometimes they both could take a <em>little </em>break from the truth. The best lie was one you turned into the truth.</p><p>“’I do you’,” he explained, “means I’m the one who holds you. <em>I </em>sing to <em>you.”</em></p><p>“But <em>I </em>want to sing to <em>you</em>,” Oliver protested. "I love singing to you..." </p><p>“Nope,” said Connor. “I finished. So you are going to sleep first. Because hearing your cute little snores is my reward.”</p><p>“Oh shuddup,” Oliver groaned, but he obliged. He wriggled in as Connor wrapped himself around. "What the hell, what nonsense is this..." </p><p>"<em>Quelle connorie,</em>" Connor corrected him. Oliver had forgotten most of his French but clearly not enough to miss that awful pun, judging by the light elbow blow Connor received in the chest. Connor grinned again. He loved that. Something further down on Connor seemed to agree. Oops. He had to urgently conjure up images of boring-shaped household objects in his head -- sleep hazard averted.</p><p>Connor pondered what song to pick. If he sang “Puff the Magic Dragon”, Oliver would reliably burst into hysterics, no matter how tired he was. Tempting. <em>Dangerously </em>tempting. Connor knew that three hours of snores beat a minute of laughs, but it was so tempting... No, no, no -- avert sleep hazard. Connor still had to master “OHW”, but he was figuring it out. He hummed a little tune that he made up as he went along.</p><p>There was once a time when Connor couldn’t imagine sleeping with a guy who snored. Literally. If a hookup started snoring, Connor would always sneak out and evacuate the building as fast as possible. Now he couldn’t imagine sleeping <em>without</em> Oliver’s quiet but mesmerizing little puffs of breath.</p><p>And there they were. Connor glanced at the clock. Five minutes. Job accomplished in record time. Connor carefully replaced himself with an ensemble of pillows, tucked Oliver into the sheets, and tiptoed out of the room.</p><p>He had to burn up that section urgently. He found his lighter and held it to the edge of the paper. But… he found himself reading it over one last time. It felt so surreal that he had actually written it.</p><p>He stopped for a second. He couldn't hear anything. No snores. Had he left too quickly? Connor crept back up to the bedroom and cracked the door open. He smiled. The snores were there alright, they were just quiet, as they always were. Connor sat against the wall and continued reading, using his phone's flashlight, with Oliver's snores in the background. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi, I love feedback ... :)</p><p>Language note: Connor's pun was on the phrase "quelle connerie" in French, which roughly translates to "what bullshit?!"</p></blockquote></div></div>
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